Page 14 of My Faire Lady

Frankie has a tail.

It’s a scaled red, the tip ends in a pointed spade, and it thrashes whenever she raises her voice. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out how she made it looks so realistic. It’s off-putting, really.

She leans over the counter, handing a customer an overflowing tankard of mead. I stare, awestruck as her tail sways back and forth. As if she senses my attention, she peers over her shoulder and smirks. I stiffen, dipping my head as I wipe down the counter.

“You have absolutely no bartending experience, do you?” she says, propping an elbow on the knotted wood.

I wring the rag between my hands. “What makes you think that?”

“When a customer ordered a pint, you told him we don’t sell ice cream.” She gives me a pointed look and raises a brow.

My feet shuffle over the dusty wooden floorboards. “What I lack in experience, I make up in willingness to learn?”

We’ve been open for nearly three hours, and I can count on one hand how many customers have walked up to the bar. And in total, we’ve made three dollars in tips. A dollar fifty each.

I’m beginning to regret this.

She smiles, brushing her blond hair off her shoulders so it hangs in waves around her waist. The thin string of her blouse knots into a bow at her chest, and she catches me staring. I flick my gaze to the ceiling as heat climbs the back of my neck.

A low chuckle comes from between her lips, and she circles me, lifting a hand as she drags her fingertips across the breadth of my shoulder blades.

She lowers her lips to my earlobe, her weight pressed against my spine. “Have you ever wondered why the bar is raised?”

My pulse speeds, and my mouth goes dry as her tail skims my forearm. “Um, so they can see the menu better?”

She breathes a laugh against my skin, and her warmth disappears from my back. Rounding me, she lifts herself to a seat on the counter. I suck in a fresh breath of air through my nose and calm my thoughts.

“Not quite. It’s raised so our chests are eye level.” She shakes the tip jar, and coins clatter against the glass. “It makes them more obligated to leave a tip.”

I purse my lips. “Doesn’t that make you feel a little…objectified?”

She barks a laugh and looks down at herself—the way the corset pulls her waist into a sharp hourglass. She drags a finger up the slit in her skirt, exposing the fair skin of her thigh. “I like dressing like this. It’s fun, isn’t it? And the women tip better, anyway.” Leaning against a wooden column, she smiles at something in the distance. “Speaking of women.”

She hops from the counter and throws open the ice chest, digging until she pulls out a cold beer. I cross to the counter and lean over the bar, locking eyes with none other than Scarlet.

My tongue turns to lead, and I manage a small smile that she doesn’t return. I swallow and lower back onto my heels, my stomach churning. Did she find out I lied about my experience?

Frankie shoves the beer into my hand. Condensation coats my skin, and slivers of ice slide off the metal can, rolling down my wrist.

“What are you doing?” I hiss under my breath.

She slides an almond-shaped fingernail beneath the tab and cracks the beer open. Foam drips over my knuckles.

Her eyes sparkle as they meet mine. “Training you, of course.”

Scarlet sets her helmet onto the bar, and its gilded Valkyrie wings catch the bright sunlight. Sweat beads at her temples, and tendrils of hair hang loose from her braid, tangling in the chainmail beneath the hollow of her throat. She crosses her arms on the bar, eyes level with my breasts, just like Frankie said.

But she looks everywhere except at me.

I’ve replayed our conversation about the competition over and over in my head, wondering if I said something wrong. There was a lightness to her voice that disappeared the moment I mentioned I’d be studying in Edinburgh.

She looks up at me through her lashes. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” I say, a lump forming in my throat.

Frankie rests a hand on her hip, giving Scarlet a smile far too wide for my liking. “Perfect timing. I was just teaching Lottie how to do the dirty wench.”

Scarlet’s eyes go wide, and she yanks her arms from the counter. “I can’t. The jousting just finished.”